Grief
by Light Brown Shoes
Summary: He's dead. He's dead, and he's not coming back. My son was killed in the fifty third Hunger Games. And his killer lives in the Victor Village. His killer lives in the Victor Village only a few hundred yards from my house.


You cannot describe your love for your child. It goes beyond words, beyond thought. At night, I would lay down on my bed and stare at the ceiling, and think about things. I would think about small things, like what I should have said to Laungie when she told me I was so out of fashion, and that we should go shopping. I would think about big things, like my father, and if his death was painful or not.

Not anymore.

Ever since the fifty third Hunger Games, all I think about is my son.

"_Mom, I'm going to volunteer."_

"_What?"I asked absentmindedly. I was cooking dinner, distracted. I didn't really hear what he said._

"_I'm going to volunteer." This time I heard him. I dropped the spoon, whirled around, and screamed at him. _

I don't even remember what I screamed. Why did I yell at him?

_Three weeks later, the Reapings came. I desperately tried to convince him not to volunteer, but he was stubborn._

"_You are NOT going to volunteer in the Games! This IS NOT a _game_, it's _the_ Games! You could be killed!"_

_He towered over me, his newly formed muscles bulging out of his long-sleeved shirt. And he was calm._

"_Mom, I want to honor Dad." He wouldn't even look me in the eye._

"_By what?" I shrieked. "He can't see you win! You'll be joining him in the grave!" Tears came to my eyes, and I fervently tried to wipe them away._

"_No, I am going to win. I have to get ready." He shut the door, and I banged on it, yelling for him to get his ass out here right now. I didn't care that I was cursing… my son could die._

He didn't listen. I sat up and looked at the clock. Midnight. I stood up and walked down the hall into his room, the only noise in the house was my feet slapping the wooden floor. Creaking open the door, I peeked my head in. It was exactly as he had left it that morning.

"_And now, for the boys' tribute!" the escort walked over to the ball containing the boys' names, as a girl stood up next to him… another volunteer. She grinned at the crowed, hands on her hips._

She was the one that killed my son.

"_Uneda Hanat!" A boy walked up to the platform, looking nervous. "Any volunteers? Anyone want to steal Uneda's fame?" The escort looked around. I was glaring at my son, willing him to turn around. Hoping he would change his mind._

_But he volunteered._

I looked out the window, staring at the window box that was filled with wilting brown flowers. Dead.

Turning to his bed, I sat down and grabbed the pillow. I shoved my face into it, smelling cut grass and tree bark. I don't know where he got that smell, but he had it since he was a baby.

I was so mad at him.

"_You could DIE!" I screamed, getting into his face and pointing toward the graveyard. "You could be buried right there!"_

_He just sat there, unmoving._

"_I can't lose you too!" I said, tears streaming down my face. I didn't bother to wipe them away._

"_Mom," he spoke for the first time since I came into the Hall, "I need to do this. I am going to come home. We'll be rich." I stared at him. We lived in District One. We were comfy. _

"_I don't want money! I want YOU TO BE ALIVE!" I screamed. And then I realized this might be the last time I see him._

"_Please, drop out. Please!" I collapsed to the floor, sobbing and holding his hand._

"_Mom, I can't. I have to go now." He stood up and walked over to the Peacekeepers that was waving him over._

"_NO! NO!" I ran after him, but he was already gone._

Why did I scream? Why didn't I hold him and tell him I loved him?

_I sat in front of the T.V., staring at it as I had for the past three weeks. There were only two tributes left. My son was not one of them._

_He was already dead._

_But I couldn't look away. That bitch had killed my son. She drove a sword through his throat in the fourth day. She was still alive. I wanted her dead._

_But she didn't die. As I blinked, the bloody battle that she had been fighting in ended. And so did another boy's life._

_She was a victor._

I hated her. More than anything, I hated her. For four weeks, my son has been dead.

And I wanted revenge.

I stood up. It was one a.m. and I was dressed. I was showered. And I had a shotgun.

I knew where she lived. I knew, because for so long after the games she was on T.V.. Gloating. I was going to stop that.

As I slipped out of the house, the chilly air bit into me, and my breath clouded in front of me. I stepped, snow crunching under my foot. I took another step. Another crunch. Five hundred and forty eight crunches later, I was at her front door.

I gathered my strength, and rang to door bell. A minute later, she answered the door, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"Who the fu-"

And I blew off her head.

Then I turned the gun onto my, and pulled the trigger. I was going to see my husband.

And, more importantly, I was going to see my son. I died smiling.


End file.
